Clipped by Love
Page 8
When I was fourteen, I told my dad I wanted to be like the other girls and wear makeup. He took me to the pharmacy and handed me a tube of red lipstick. Then he told me that this was all I needed—that pretty girls wear red lipstick, and since I was the most gorgeous girl he knew, I needed red lipstick. I never questioned him because I never really do, and for the last almost seven years, I’ve only worn red lipstick. All the time. Even on the ice. My friends have tried to change that, but I never really caught on to the whole makeup trend and stuck with my lipstick.
Maybe that’s why I don’t have a boyfriend.
Ah, who am I kidding? I’m too busy for one.
Tonight though, I pulled out all the stops. Okay, honestly, Delanie did all this, but I look good, so who am I to stick to the logistics. While my face is pretty, my outfit is cuter. Like I was instructed, I kept my bikini underneath the tank that had the Beatles on it, and it’s easy to say that Jude inspired my look tonight. With a pair of short shorts my dad would not approve of but make me feel a bit wild, I have my favorite flip-flops. Apparently they are doing a bonfire tonight, so around my waist is a black hoodie in case I get cold.
I guess I look like every other college girl on her last summer hurrah.
Typical.
Coming out of my room, I find Delanie and Mandie waiting for me. Delanie is wearing a skimpy little dress, her bikini top showing through the sheer fabric, while Mandie looks a lot like me, in shorts and a tank.
“About damn time!” Delanie complains as she gathers all the crap she’s been cooking all afternoon. She believes the way to a man’s dick is with food, hence why I was peeling potatoes and eggshells for two hours. Torture, it was, especially since she wouldn’t let me have any.
“I didn’t even take that long!” I complain back, and she gives me a dirty look as Mandie laughs.
“Actually, you did,” she points out. “But you look hot.”
“Er, thanks,” I say with a shrug before Delanie starts to stack the Coke in my arms. She then stuffs the one spot in my arm that’s free with a huge bottle of Jack.
“Can I carry this?” I ask, always the cautious one.
“Yes, you aren’t drinking it. Yet,” she says with a nod before handing shit to Mandie.
Oh, how stupid of me.
“Who said I’m drinking?”
Letting her head drop back, Mandie giggles as Delanie groans loudly. “Oh my God, can we leave prudish, cautious Baylor here? And take wild, fun Baylor to the party, please?”
“What? I’m just asking,” I say back at her.
“No, you are being a pain in my ass. Have fun, Baylor! You play hockey twenty-four seven, you have a four-point-fucking-oh GPA! Let loose! Have fun!”
“I am!”
“No! You’re calculating and trying to figure out a way out of this, when I can see it on your face that you want to go, and you want to ride that guy like a Zamboni.”
Gasping, I look at her in horror. “How dare you use hockey as a dirty sex reference!”
“Oh girl, I am loaded with them!” she yells back. “Now shut up and let’s go so you can find out how long his stick really is!”
“Oh my God,” I groan as Mandie continues to laugh her ass off. “I don’t even know why I am friends with someone who can’t respect the game.”
“Because I don’t care about the game. The only thing I care about is watching you win because it makes you happy. Now a weekend of happy fun time with a little sex on the side will make you smile and relax you. Hold this,” she says, tucking a bag of Solo cups in my arm. “And let’s go.”
Grumbling, I glare as she packs shit in Mandie’s arms. I don’t know why, but I ask, “Why are we bringing so much? Aren’t they hosting us?”
Mandie seems to agree with me, but Delanie shoots me a glare. “Yes, and they have a lot, according to the picture he sent me, but—”
“You exchanged numbers with him already?” I shriek, almost dropping the stuff in my arms so I can smack her. “He could be a psycho!”
She shrugs. “He isn’t a psycho, he’s nice, and since I plan on fucking him tonight and probably tomorrow, I want to be able to call him again tomorrow. Or whenever I’m in Nashville.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, and she grins before stepping in front of me.
“Now, rules. Like you said, they are hockey players. And I know you are too, but when you tell people that, you have a tendency to rub it in their face that you are the best.”
“I do not!” I counter, but she gives me a look.
“Yeah, you do,” Mandie adds, and I send her the same look.
Do I? Hmm. Personality flaw, I guess. But, I mean, I am the best.
Shrugging, I say, “If a man can’t handle my awesomeness, then he is obviously not man enough for me.”
And it’s true. I have no problem getting a dude. I can have a boyfriend, but 99% of the time, they get intimidated by me. I read once that a strong man can handle a strong woman, but a weak man will say she has an attitude. Needless to say, I’ve been with a lot of weak men. Then there was that one guy that shattered my world.
So yeah, Baylor: 0, Men: A lot.
“Says the person who doesn’t get laid,” she counters and my glare deepens. “Now. If for some reason, the hockey comes up, cool. But just say, yeah, I play a bit. Can I suck your dick?”
“I would never!” I exclaim as Mandie dissolves in giggles.
“One can hope, but please, leave intense hockey Baylor here, please,” she practically begs, and I hadn’t realized I was that bad.
It kind of hurts my feelings, but I won’t let her know that. I won’t apologize either for being intense about my career. Passionate people are the ones who work hard for what they want and more than likely reach their goal. So I might be a little overly passionate. I play hockey with a bunch of egotistical dudes, I have to hold my own. Plus, this right here proves why I am never friends with girls! Half the time they can’t handle me, and then the other half, they are pushing me into fornicating at the drop of a hat.
But as I look into her eyes, I can see that she really does care for me. That she really does want me to have fun, and I know she’s only picking at me. She wouldn’t push me into anything I wouldn’t want to do. I need to have fun. I’m not a naïve girl; I know how to make good decisions. And a little part of me wants to do what she says. Let loose and just have fun.
Maybe that’s why I don’t have a boyfriend.
Ah, who am I kidding? I’m too busy for one.
Tonight though, I pulled out all the stops. Okay, honestly, Delanie did all this, but I look good, so who am I to stick to the logistics. While my face is pretty, my outfit is cuter. Like I was instructed, I kept my bikini underneath the tank that had the Beatles on it, and it’s easy to say that Jude inspired my look tonight. With a pair of short shorts my dad would not approve of but make me feel a bit wild, I have my favorite flip-flops. Apparently they are doing a bonfire tonight, so around my waist is a black hoodie in case I get cold.
I guess I look like every other college girl on her last summer hurrah.
Typical.
Coming out of my room, I find Delanie and Mandie waiting for me. Delanie is wearing a skimpy little dress, her bikini top showing through the sheer fabric, while Mandie looks a lot like me, in shorts and a tank.
“About damn time!” Delanie complains as she gathers all the crap she’s been cooking all afternoon. She believes the way to a man’s dick is with food, hence why I was peeling potatoes and eggshells for two hours. Torture, it was, especially since she wouldn’t let me have any.
“I didn’t even take that long!” I complain back, and she gives me a dirty look as Mandie laughs.
“Actually, you did,” she points out. “But you look hot.”
“Er, thanks,” I say with a shrug before Delanie starts to stack the Coke in my arms. She then stuffs the one spot in my arm that’s free with a huge bottle of Jack.
“Can I carry this?” I ask, always the cautious one.
“Yes, you aren’t drinking it. Yet,” she says with a nod before handing shit to Mandie.
Oh, how stupid of me.
“Who said I’m drinking?”
Letting her head drop back, Mandie giggles as Delanie groans loudly. “Oh my God, can we leave prudish, cautious Baylor here? And take wild, fun Baylor to the party, please?”
“What? I’m just asking,” I say back at her.
“No, you are being a pain in my ass. Have fun, Baylor! You play hockey twenty-four seven, you have a four-point-fucking-oh GPA! Let loose! Have fun!”
“I am!”
“No! You’re calculating and trying to figure out a way out of this, when I can see it on your face that you want to go, and you want to ride that guy like a Zamboni.”
Gasping, I look at her in horror. “How dare you use hockey as a dirty sex reference!”
“Oh girl, I am loaded with them!” she yells back. “Now shut up and let’s go so you can find out how long his stick really is!”
“Oh my God,” I groan as Mandie continues to laugh her ass off. “I don’t even know why I am friends with someone who can’t respect the game.”
“Because I don’t care about the game. The only thing I care about is watching you win because it makes you happy. Now a weekend of happy fun time with a little sex on the side will make you smile and relax you. Hold this,” she says, tucking a bag of Solo cups in my arm. “And let’s go.”
Grumbling, I glare as she packs shit in Mandie’s arms. I don’t know why, but I ask, “Why are we bringing so much? Aren’t they hosting us?”
Mandie seems to agree with me, but Delanie shoots me a glare. “Yes, and they have a lot, according to the picture he sent me, but—”
“You exchanged numbers with him already?” I shriek, almost dropping the stuff in my arms so I can smack her. “He could be a psycho!”
She shrugs. “He isn’t a psycho, he’s nice, and since I plan on fucking him tonight and probably tomorrow, I want to be able to call him again tomorrow. Or whenever I’m in Nashville.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, and she grins before stepping in front of me.
“Now, rules. Like you said, they are hockey players. And I know you are too, but when you tell people that, you have a tendency to rub it in their face that you are the best.”
“I do not!” I counter, but she gives me a look.
“Yeah, you do,” Mandie adds, and I send her the same look.
Do I? Hmm. Personality flaw, I guess. But, I mean, I am the best.
Shrugging, I say, “If a man can’t handle my awesomeness, then he is obviously not man enough for me.”
And it’s true. I have no problem getting a dude. I can have a boyfriend, but 99% of the time, they get intimidated by me. I read once that a strong man can handle a strong woman, but a weak man will say she has an attitude. Needless to say, I’ve been with a lot of weak men. Then there was that one guy that shattered my world.
So yeah, Baylor: 0, Men: A lot.
“Says the person who doesn’t get laid,” she counters and my glare deepens. “Now. If for some reason, the hockey comes up, cool. But just say, yeah, I play a bit. Can I suck your dick?”
“I would never!” I exclaim as Mandie dissolves in giggles.
“One can hope, but please, leave intense hockey Baylor here, please,” she practically begs, and I hadn’t realized I was that bad.
It kind of hurts my feelings, but I won’t let her know that. I won’t apologize either for being intense about my career. Passionate people are the ones who work hard for what they want and more than likely reach their goal. So I might be a little overly passionate. I play hockey with a bunch of egotistical dudes, I have to hold my own. Plus, this right here proves why I am never friends with girls! Half the time they can’t handle me, and then the other half, they are pushing me into fornicating at the drop of a hat.
But as I look into her eyes, I can see that she really does care for me. That she really does want me to have fun, and I know she’s only picking at me. She wouldn’t push me into anything I wouldn’t want to do. I need to have fun. I’m not a naïve girl; I know how to make good decisions. And a little part of me wants to do what she says. Let loose and just have fun.
